by Michael Dean
‘And Rüdiger von Hessert?’
‘He had nothing to do with it.’
‘Did he know about it?’
‘No.’
‘That’s odd. The information about it came from him. It was he who betrayed you.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Forster gave a passable imitation of his old smile. ‘I think you do. He was to pick up the dynamite in his father’s car, but got cold feet.’
‘Sepp and I discussed using von Hessert, but he is too unreliable. He is an iconoclast, but at heart a loyal Nazi. We never told him a thing.’
‘Rubbish. And Ello von Hessert?’
‘What about her?’
‘She visited you just before you tried to kill the Führer.’
‘Ello knows how I feel about Hitler. She knew nothing about the plot, but she had her suspicions. She was making sure I was in the flat, so Hitler was safe.’
‘If Fräulein von Hessert knew of your traitorous feelings about the Führer, why did she not report them?’
‘She did. Both she and Rüdiger warned Hitler about us.’
‘Warned Hitler personally?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Ello told me. She wanted us to mend our ways and become good National Socialists. She is Hitler’s girlfriend after all.’
Forster shot him a look of reluctant admiration. He would not dare check this with Hitler personally, as Glaser knew perfectly well. In fact, not only was the Führer out of his league, so was Ello von Hessert. He would have to leave her to Hess.
‘Why did you leave it so late to get the gun?’ Forster asked, with genuine curiosity.
‘I couldn’t keep a gun in the flat in case you searched it again. I intended to get the Weintraub murder weapon earlier, but I had to wait until Ello left the flat.’
‘Why get a gun at all if there was a bomb? You can’t have known the bomb had been discovered – unless Fräulein von Hessert told you.’
‘My task was to fire the pistol both at Hitler and the bomb – to detonate it.’
‘There was a clock to detonate it.’
‘Clocks don’t always work. Hitler has been very lucky in the past.’
‘I don’t believe you. The plan you are outlining would mean your certain capture.’
‘It was worth it. It ... would have been worth it.’
‘Only someone not concerned about his family would act in the way you are describing. You know what could happen to them. Are you not concerned about your family?’
‘I’m very concerned. But killing Hitler was more important than any other consideration.’
‘Even your family?’
‘Yes.’
‘Glaser, I shall give you one minute to tell me the truth. If you do not, I shall be visiting your family. You are aware of the policy of Sippenhaft, I’m sure.’
Glaser was only too aware of Sippenhaft – the arrest and punishment of the suspect’s entire family. He went pale but said nothing.
There was a heavy silence. ‘Very well,’ Forster said eventually. ‘On your own head be it.’
Chapter Three
Brigadeführer Forster, resplendent in his new uniform, had Katya Bachhuber’s home searched again. The front door was broken down, even though no resistance was offered. Bedding, covers, books, files, clothes and dirty washing were ripped apart, then thrown on the floor. The furniture and cushions were slashed with bayonets. Anything made of leather, as well as every piece of jewellery, and silver cutlery, was taken. The crockery was either taken or smashed. All documents were removed, even school reports. The radio was stolen. Purses, including the maids’ purses, were ransacked for cash. Katya Bachuber was not, however, charged with any offence.
Forster and his men then went to the Glaser flat. Lotte, Kaspar and Magda were made to stand in the middle of the drawing room and watch. Forster turned all the lights on, then fetched the vacuum cleaner, plugged it in and left it running so that, as he put it, ‘You’ll have a nice high electricity bill.’
To the background sound of a roaring vacuum cleaner, Lotte’s harmonium was smashed to pieces. All the paintings – known to be reproductions and therefore not saleable – were slashed. The family’s personal possessions were destroyed, one by one, as was the children’s school work. The wine was either guzzled during the search, from the bottle, or taken away. The Persian rug was rolled up by a trooper and taken as booty.
At the end of it, amid the wreck of the Glaser home, Forster read to Lotte and Kaspar the statements they had made when Glaser had slipped his followers, to go to Ludwigsburg.
‘Lotte Glaser and Kaspar Glaser,’ Forster said. ‘You are hereby charged with non-cooperation with a Political Police investigation.’
Kaspar shot his mother a look of support. Both were silent. Magda was crying. Forster turned to her. ‘Magda Glaser. You gave false information to the Political Police.’ Forster meant the non-existent Pension Walther. ‘You are hereby charged with obstructing an investigation, not merely non-cooperation.’
To laughter from the SS-troopers, Magda’s sobs re-doubled. Lotte put her arm round her. Kaspar wanted to comfort her too, but found no way.
‘What will happen to my husband?’ Lotte said, still with her arm around Magda.
‘He will be put on trial.’
Lotte looked Forster in the eye. ‘I would like to see him.’
‘So would I,’ Kaspar said.
Forster nodded. ‘I’ll make the necessary arrangements’
*
At a trial at a Special Court the same day, Lotte Glaser was sentenced to one month’s detention at a former monastery at Breitenau, south of Kassel, newly converted by the Gestapo to a concentration camp for women. Her request to visit her husband before her sentence began was granted, as it was in the case of Kaspar.
But it went worse for the youth. His teasing had got under Forster’s skin, as it was meant to. Because of his ‘un-National Socialist mentality and behaviour’, as the Brigadeführer put it in his report, the Special Court sentenced Kaspar to two years under punishment regime in Dachau.
Magda was charged and tried separately. In his report to the judges, Forster implied that she may have been involved in the assassination attempt itself. He felt he had been made a fool of by a slip of a girl – and he did not like it. He could see Glaser’s face, in his mind’s eye, as he drew up the charges. Magda’s term in Dachau was to begin with immediate effect. She was sentenced to five years.
Chapter Four
Forster had performed excellently, thought Rudolf Hess, but there were still loose ends. Hess was the man for loose ends. He fussily made sure he was ready, pulling his uniform jacket straight, combing his hair. Then he told his secretary to send Ello von Hessert in.
As soon as the young woman entered and began to walk toward him, Hess flicked the intercom to the outer office to ‘ON’, jumped up and waved her to a chair.
‘Thank you for coming, Fräulein von Hessert.’ Hess sat down again, curling his leg twice round the leg of his chair.
‘Not at all,’ said Ello. She gave him a brief, though sweet, smile.
‘Fräulein von Hessert ...’
‘Yes?’
There was a long pause. ‘Please understand, gnädiges Fräulein, I need to. establish one or two facts. To make sure there have been no errors, or misunderstandings. Over certain events. May I put one or two routine questions to you?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Fräulein von Hessert, cast your mind back, if you will, to the night of your dear mother’s birthday party. An occasion I much enjoyed, by the way.’
‘Oh, good-o! I was so hoping you had.’
‘Yes. Earlier that evening, were you at Dr Glaser’s flat, in Galeriestrasse?’
‘Yes.’
‘And ... at seven o’clock that evening, from the flat, did you dial ...’ Hess consulted the papers in front of him, although he knew the number perfectly well. ‘Did you dial 45385
? And hold a conversation?’
Ello’s mouth was dry. ‘I think you know I did.’
Hess nodded. He unwound his leg from the chair. ‘Yes, indeed. That is ... um ... the telephone number of the Führer’s residence.’ Hess paused. ‘You told Frau Winter you had left something personal at the apartment.’ Hess looked at the papers. ‘You wanted to collect it, in the Führer’s absence. What was that ... that you wanted ...?’
‘I really can’t remember.’
Hess nodded. ‘Yes, I see. Frau Winter says ...’ He consulted his papers again. ‘She says that you later told her there was nothing you wanted to collect, but you wished to spend some time alone in Fräulein Raubal’s old room. Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘I see. The plans for the House of German Art were in the apartment at that time, were they not?’
Ello shut her eyes. ‘I have no idea.’
‘You had seen them earlier that day?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you have a suitcase with you?’
‘I believe I did.’
‘Why?’
‘It had my dress in it. I changed for the evening in Geli’s room.’
‘Why change there?’
Ello shrugged. There was silence for a minute.
‘Moving on to more recent events, Fräulein von Hessert. Did you leave your place of honour at the laying of the foundation-stone of the House of German Art, to visit Dr Glaser?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘I wanted to see how he was.’
‘Had he been unwell?’
‘No.’
‘Immediately after your visit, Dr Glaser slipped out by the back way to evade detection, collected a gun and attempted to assassinate the Führer, did he not?’
‘Stop playing with me, Herr Hess. If you are going to arrest me, please get on with it.’
Hess stared at her for a second, then blinked rapidly. ‘Fräulein von Hessert, you are applying, I believe, for posts as a psychologist in America? New York? Now that you have graduated.’
‘How did you know that? Are you opening my letters?’
A voice boomed from behind her. ‘No, I told him.’
Ello wheeled round in her chair. Her father, his face black with anger, stood in the doorway to Hess’s outer office. Hess fussily waved past him, through the open door, to his secretary, telling her to turn the intercom off. Cajetan von Hessert covered the massive office in long strides, seized a chair and sat next to Hess, ostentatiously on the interrogator’s side, not his daughter’s.
‘What’s going on?’ Ello asked him.
‘I think it is I who should be asking you that question, missy!’ The father spoke softly, but he was shaking with rage.
‘Fräulein von Hessert ...’ Hess resumed.
Cajetan von Hessert held up his right hand. ‘Ello, we expect your applications to New York to be successful,’ he said. ‘You will leave Germany tomorrow, with a large sum of money. You will not come back. You may write bread-and-butter letters to your mother, who, thank God, knows nothing about any of this. It would break her heart. How could you do this to us?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ello said. She licked her lips.
Hess spoke again. ‘Fräulein von Hessert, you have had a certain amount of ... access to the Führer,’ he said. ‘This must at all costs remain confidential.’ Hess glanced at Cajetan von Hessert, with an apologetic shrug, but went on. ‘We have a network of agents in America, you see. And ...’
‘Ello,’ Cajetan von Hessert interrupted. ‘If you breathe a word about the Führer in America, anything at all, Hess will have you killed. And I want you to know, it will be with my blessing. We have a long reach, my girl. Someone will be watching you, and you will not know who it is. You never met the Führer. Clear?’
Ello nodded. ‘Clear.’
There was silence for a moment, father and daughter looking at each other. When Cajetan von Hessert spoke, his voice was breaking. ‘You knew I would be on the platform, next to Hitler, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
There was another long silence, then Hess spoke. ‘We have drawn up a document, outlining an agreement.’ Hess pressed a button on the intercom. ‘Frau Schrödel, please.’
Hess’s secretary appeared with a piece of paper. She gave it to Ello, along with a pen.
The document was one paragraph long. Ello read it, put it on Hess’s desk, signed it, and handed it to him. ‘What about Rudi?’ she asked her father.
‘Rüdiger will be given another chance. Not that he deserves it. As soon as he recovers from his illness, he will resume his law training. He will become a useful National Socialist lawyer. You may write to him, too. But your letters will be read, so keep it bland. No telephone calls.’
Ello nodded. Frau Schrödel wordlessly handed her a travel-wallet. It contained ten thousand United States dollars. There was also a first-class train ticket to Bremerhaven, and a ticket for a first-class suite on the steamship Europa, where Paul Troost-designed luxury would carry her to New York.
Both tickets were one-way.
Chapter Five
The cell door was flung wide open. A tall young man in a black lawyer’s gown stood there, blinking behind thick spectacles. He motioned the guards to stay, and leave the door open – he was clearly not intending to be there long. Glaser recalled having seen him at Prielmayerstrasse, but could not put a name to the face.
‘My name is Klein,’ the tall lawyer supplied. ‘I am your court-appointed defence lawyer. Do you have any questions?’
‘How are my family?’
‘I deal only with the matter before the court. Do you have any questions about that?’
‘What is our line of defence?’
Klein’s eyes widened, behind the thick glasses. ‘We have none. You were caught with a gun in your hand, about to shoot our beloved Führer, Adolf Hider, as the culmination of a wicked planned plot. You are a traitor to the Revolution, to the Third Reich and to the German people.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I suppose you could plead insanity. But the court would see through it.’
‘And that is your idea of being a defence lawyer, is it?’
‘Don’t use that tone to me! As if your predicament were my fault. I will see you tomorrow, in court.’
Klein stalked out. As the door was locked behind him, August Kunde was shaking with laughter, on his bunk. Glaser joined in.
*
At ten next morning, Glaser’s hands were handcuffed in front of him, by Green Police guards. He was taken to the Ministry of Justice, in a police van, and led to Court One.
There, he sat on the accused bench, with the guards either side of him. His handcuffs were removed. The public benches filled with uniformed observers from various organisations of the Reich. The courtroom was full, though virtually silent. There was no sign of Forster.
Three judges in red robes and red biretta-style hats appeared from a side door, and sat at the desk, on the dais, at the front. One of them was carrying the papers from the case. They removed their hats. Then they stood again.
‘Heil Hitler!’ called out the judge in the middle, giving a fully extended Hitler salute.
The room stood and chorused ‘Heil Hitler’ back again. Glaser was hauled to his feet by the guards: ‘Heil Hitler.’
The presiding judge, the one in the middle, was in his early forties, dark-haired, quite small, with an aquiline face. Glaser had never seen him before. ‘The prisoner will approach the bench. Hearing of evidence,’ he bawled out, in an unexpectedly high voice.
Glaser was brought between the two guards to face the presiding judge, looking up at him.
‘You were caught with a gun, attempting to assassinate the Führer,’ the Presiding Judge yelled down to him. ‘This was a planned and premeditated crime based on your mad idea that the Führer was responsible for the death of h
is beloved niece.’ The judge picked up the report Glaser had written about Geli’s death, the report which had disappeared from the files. He waved it in the air. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’
Glaser said what he had prepared to say: ‘Our country is in the grip of a man with the moral compass of a toddler,’ he said. ‘Germany is now his toy, and he will smash it against the wall.’
‘What mad raving is this?’ screamed the judge. ‘Do you want to plead insanity, is that it? He continues to disgrace the court he is supposed to serve, spewing out a stream of traitorous claptrap!’ The judge’s scream grew even louder. ‘Glaser, do you deny you conspired with a criminal to commit murder? A criminal whose case you investigated, and whose release from protective custody you fraudulently obtained.’
‘It wasn’t fraudulent. He ...’
‘Is Kunde a criminal or not?’ screamed the judge.
‘No.’
‘Does he have a criminal record?’
Glaser was silent.
‘Are you hard of hearing? If he has a criminal record, that’s what I asked you.’
‘Yes. He does.’
‘Then he is a criminal. You fool! You dolt! You poltroon! Kunde is also a parasite and a communist. What sort of a lawyer is he, this Glaser?’ The judge looked round the room at the silent ranks of uniformed men. ‘I’ll tell you. This Glaser is a lawyer who pisses on the law. Pisses on the law he is supposed to uphold. If it were not for the vigilance of those protecting the Führer, he would be a murderer now, like his friend, Kunde.’
‘I wish I was! I wish I had killed Hitler!’
This drew a roar from the seven or eight packed rows of watchers.
‘Shut your gob!’ The judge screamed at Glaser, pointing an accusing finger at him. ‘You are hereby disbarred from the profession you have disgraced. You are no longer a lawyer. We proceed to sentencing. Defence!’ The judge shot a look at Klein, on the lawyers’ bench, staring at the floor. ‘Any questions?’
Klein nodded ‘no’.
The judge turned back to Glaser. ‘You honourless lump!’ he screamed. ‘Miserable piece of shit! You have betrayed the trust placed in you by the Reich, in the person of the Führer.’ He put the red hat back on. ‘Sentenced to death. Anything to say?’